Twice Eleven

A face of bone and dried blood
Hovers in the silken darkness
And unto it I am the mirror

In the orgy of graveyard shadows
A gate was shown to me
And unto it I am the key

The skull of a noble beast
Is placed upon the stang
And I hold the cleaving sword
The liberator of its essence

In the mist of the morn
We stand both triumphant and torn
Twice eleven times the death bell chimes
Twice eleven are the poison drops in our wine

The ring of the Reaper
We all kiss at birth
We call him king
Yet strangely shun His work